Valeria sat sulking in her chambers, staring at the sunlight filtering through the ornate window. She was suffocating under the weight of this lifestyle—the forced isolation, the constant surveillance, and the looming shadow of the king. She was sick of it all. She wanted to take action, to break free, but what could she do? Every attempt to reclaim a sliver of her independence was met with an iron fist.
The king had taken to inviting her for tea or strolls in the gardens, but these so-called gestures of goodwill were a mockery. She was forced to accept, yet she refused to speak a word to him. Their time together always ended in the same way: his temper flaring, a tantrum ensuing, and then her being locked back in her chambers. At least he had stopped visiting her at night to touch her in those horrible, humiliating ways. She didn't know why, and she dared not question it, but she was grateful. She clung to the hope that it would stay that way.
But this routine—this gilded prison—was driving her to the edge of madness. And with her coronation as the new queen drawing ever closer, the pressure was mounting. She would rather die than be that tyrant's queen. She had no choice; she had to escape. At any cost.
She had a plan.
When her maid arrived that morning to help her prepare for the day, Valeria knew it was time to put the first step of her plan into action. The maid stood behind her, carefully brushing her hair. Valeria studied her reflection in the mirror, guilt gnawing at her insides.
"Could you please bring me my hairpin? I think I left it in the bathroom," she said with a soft, apologetic smile.
The maid bowed politely. "Of course, my lady." She quickly turned and disappeared into the bathroom.
Valeria's heart pounded as she stood, her hands trembling. She felt horrible for what she was about to do, but desperation outweighed her guilt. After Gloria's execution—an act for which Valeria still blamed herself—she knew none of the maids would risk helping her. She couldn't trust anyone. This was the only way.
As the maid searched for the nonexistent hairpin, Valeria quietly grabbed a porcelain vase from the nearby table. She moved toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind her to muffle the sound. Her voice cracked as she whispered, "I'm so sorry."
The maid turned around, confusion flickering across her face, but before she could react, Valeria swung the vase. It struck the maid's head with a sickening crack. The woman crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Tears welled in Valeria's eyes as she knelt beside her, checking to make sure she was still breathing. "I'm sorry," she whispered again, her voice trembling. She grabbed a pillow from her bed, slipping it under the maid's head to cushion her. The guilt was crushing, but she couldn't afford to hesitate. The king would punish her for this, Valeria knew, but she prayed it wouldn't be too harsh.
With a heavy heart, she stripped the maid of her uniform and slipped into the plain servant's dress. She left her hair down, letting it fall into her face to obscure her features. Every movement felt weighted with fear and urgency.
The clock was ticking.
The guards outside her chamber door would grow suspicious if the maid didn't emerge soon. She had less than an hour to make her escape. Moving quickly, she stepped out onto the balcony, thankful that the broken glass door still hadn't been repaired. She slipped through without making a sound and stood on the edge of the balcony, staring at the dizzying drop below.
The sight made her stomach churn, but she knew what she had to do. She'd done this before—jumping from one balcony to the next—but without the adrenaline that had carried her last time, the prospect was terrifying. She glanced down at the sheer drop again. Certain death awaited if she missed.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself. Then, with a whispered prayer, she climbed onto the railing and jumped.
Her heart stopped as her fingers barely caught the edge of the next balcony's railing. A small scream escaped her lips before she clamped her mouth shut, panic surging through her. Clinging on with one hand, she swung her other arm up and grasped the railing, pulling herself up with every ounce of strength she had.
By the time she collapsed onto the solid floor of the balcony, her chest was heaving, her arms trembling from the effort. She rested for only a moment, the pounding of her heart reminding her of the stakes. There was no time to dwell on the absurdity of her situation. Two months ago, she never would've imagined herself dangling off balconies in a desperate bid for freedom.
There were more balconies to cross before she could safely reenter the palace undetected. Each jump pushed her to her limits, leaving her drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. Finally, she reached a balcony far enough from her chambers that it felt safe to reenter the palace. She opened the glass door and slipped inside, finding herself in what appeared to be a guest room.
To her relief, the door to the room was unlocked. She peered out into the hallway, holding her breath. In the distance, she saw the guards stationed outside her chambers, their backs turned. They hadn't noticed her absence yet.
She stepped into the hallway, her movements careful and silent. She kept her head low, her hair concealing her face, and walked briskly. Panic seized her momentarily when two maids walked toward her, but they passed by without a second glance. The servant's uniform was working. No one suspected that the woman beneath it was the king's wife.
Valeria's steps quickened as she made her way to the servant quarters. The exit was close—so close she could taste freedom. The servant's exit was her best chance; it was far less guarded, and she could slip out unnoticed.
Her heart raced as the exit came into view. Just a few more steps. She was almost there.
"Where do you think you're going?"
A voice froze her in place.